


Love, Not Wisdom

by orphan_account



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluffish, M/M, Slash, Túrin is an oblivious bb, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Mim's house, Túrin is glad to have Beleg back; but Beleg worries, as always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Not Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> For a request night on tumblr.

“I am glad that you came,” Túrin said, his words breaking the chilled silence of the night.

The bed was narrow, but almost everyone huddled together on nights like this; so Túrin told himself it was only natural for Beleg to share his bed, pressed close against him. The elf moved, the warm heaviness of his body pressing down upon Túrin slightly as he leant over him.

“Your men are not,” Beleg observed, eyes hooded in thought. “Neither is Mim, but that is only because he has no love for the Eldar.”

“Why do you think my men are so angered at your presence?” Túrin asked, turning his head to the side restlessly. He had ordered the outlaws that were his followers to show respect to Beleg, and Eru knew they had needed the food and aid he brought; but still they looked at him with mistrustful or hateful eyes.

Beleg chuckled deep in his throat, a low and liquid sound. Túrin felt a shiver go through him.

“I would imagine it is because they perceive me as your weakness. Especially after what happened last time we met; when I came to you with messages from Doriath. I do not know if you’ve noticed, but you’re rather loud.”

The memory was still sharp and vivid, of the first night that Beleg had been healed fully - a hand twined in his hair, dragging his head back, hot breath on his ear, Beleg’s murmurs and his own cries… Túrin flushed darkly. It had occurred to him many times after that that his men had likely known about what was going on, but none of them had mentioned it, and after a while he had ceased to think of it.

Beleg laid a hand on his chest and another tremor went through him, and reaching up he pulled the elf’s mouth down to his. Their kisses were rushed and rough, silent except for Túrin’s heavy breathing and the slight catch in Beleg’s breath when Túrin dared to trail kisses over his cheek, dangerously near the points of his ears.

“You do not make me weak,” Túrin said, finally, his hands still twined tightly in Beleg’s hair, their lips brushing together as he spoke. “You are far more wise, and stronger than I. If not for you, I would have little.”

Beleg gave a soft laugh into his mouth, but this one was spiked with pain.

“Little, Túrin son of Hurin? If not for the wildness I allowed to run rampant in you, you might have actually been taught some manners. If I had not been your teacher, you might still be a prince at Thingol’s court. And do not call me wise, for in moments like these I do not feel wise at all.”

“Do not blame yourself,” Túrin said, a flare of anger rising in him, and would have kissed him again; but Beleg pulled back.

“I have yielded to love in this matter, as I never had before,” he said softly. “You have my heart in a snare, Túrin, and I do not know how to free myself. In the northern marches I sought to forget; but I was maddened by thought of you, and the wilderness seemed painful in its emptiness for the first time.”

“Why do you say this, now?” Túrin breathed, taken aback by the amount of emotion in Beleg’s voice.

“I have no further defenses against you, Túrin. If you tempt me, now, I will give in completely. But be warned! Your men despise me, and think the less of you for my presence; and Mim holds deep hatred for my kind, and I think that will lead to some evil.” Beleg took a deep breath. “If you order me to go, now, I might go. You would have Mim’s friendship again, and the respect of your men, and I would remain somewhere within reach…”

“It’s the middle of winter,” Túrin pointed out bluntly. “I will not let you go. And I care not for what ill-will my men and Mim might have; they can make peace with that in time, in whatever way they see fit. I need you, Beleg.”

Beleg sighed, his head drooping as if he were very tired. Túrin took to opportunity to kiss him again, to draw him close and run his fingers through starlight hair, caress the tips of his pointed ears; Beleg groaned into his mouth.

When Túrin finally allowed him breath to speak again, Beleg was hazy-eyed and breathing roughly, his cock hard against Túrin’s thigh.

“I have so little control, now,” he murmured, nipping at Túrin’s throat. “You will be the death of me, child of Hurin.”

Túrin knew that this meant he would stay, and not speak of leaving again; and laughing in gladness he kissed him, not caring who heard.


End file.
